


A Greater Merit

by Anonymous



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: HeartGold & SoulSilver | Pokemon HeartGold & SoulSilver Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fade to Black, First Dates, Honor, Implied Sexual Content, Kink Meme, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Repaying Debt, but it's a Pokemon, who is watching psychically for signs of dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:00:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kotone challenges Morty for his badge and loses. But she can't pay the agreed-upon prize money. Unable to stomach penalizing such a promising trainer for compensation failure, Morty instead accepts Kotone's clear-eyed offer of ... herself.
Relationships: Kotone | Lyra/Matsuba | Morty
Kudos: 5
Collections: Anonymous





	A Greater Merit

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompt:
> 
> _Morty/Kotone - she loses and doesn't have the money to pay up, so she offers something else. He accepts but feels guilty, so tries to be a gentleman about it. Critical hit if he's also a little clueless and/or Gengar watches from the shadows._
> 
> Kotone is about 16 here, because travelling on foot around the entire region on a life-changing journey seems like it'd take a few years honestly. 
> 
> uhhhh and I got writers blocked on this fic, so it fades to black before any actual sex. But I intended this story to be a nice first sexual experience for Kotone, with someone who treats her right regardless of the awkward circumstance.

With a pained grunt, her Quilava tried to push itself off the ground. It failed, and was still.  
  
And with that, they had won by a margin narrow enough to be satisfying, narrow enough to make this relief crisp and sweet. Morty nodded to Gengar; he melded immediately into the shadows, grateful and smiling, and Morty thought words of praise as he crossed the battlefield. Echoing footsteps buried the low drone of Kotone's Pokeball. The delight of victory paled somewhat, as he drew close enough to see the way she held the Pokeball still, reluctant to put it in her bag.  
She fought well, Morty told her. He was certainly stronger after a match like that.  
She would be strong someday, too. That thought wouldn't leave Morty's head, the thought that she was a star, if a new, rising one. She received her Cyndaquil only a few years ago, if the youth in her face was any indication.  
Kotone thanked him, soft but genuine, with tears shining in her eyes. And, actually, about the prize ...  
He didn't battle for a love of money, Morty said. If the four thousand yen wager was too much, he could take half of what she carried, instead.  
A frown pulled harder at her twitching mouth. Actually, she said, she didn't have any money. Please don't tell her mother.  
They stood there together, for one wrenching second. The thought of walking into a Gym with no--  
She knew, Kotone blurted, she knew. She shouldn't have been battling a Gym Leader if she couldn't pay. Clenching one thin hand in the other, looking away into the abyss, she murmured that she really believed they were strong enough. It looked like they needed to train a bit more.  
  
Morty had no words for this, nothing to cover this shame. It was a pity that a young woman with such talent could be down on her luck to begin with, and then defeated by the rainbow Pokemon's chosen. More than a pity: a record of compensation failure could haunt every effort Kotone made, every step of her life from now on.  
They could invoke barter, Morty said -- stiffly, hating the pettiness. If she had anything of trade value, that would do.  
Her Pokemon, Kotone said. A Potion. One Great Ball. Half a sandwich from a vending machine, but she didn't want to give him that, she added: it wasn't a very good sandwich.  
More silence poured in between them, thicker than the Gym's shadows, needle-sharp and terrible. Morty didn't want to write her up for a training offense. They had battled so well, a dance of wind and fire and shade. How could he ruin this girl, this trainer who had helped him rise higher?  
Well, Kotone said, she still had one thing.  
Which was?  
She met his eyes -- she was calm now, smiling. She still had herself, she said.  
Realization bled in. But Morty took careful steps toward it: she didn't qualify as a ghost-training apprentice, he muttered. And he didn't need any more janitorial staff.  
She couldn't cook, either, Kotone said. No, she meant ... _herself_.  
  
Outrageous, of course. But she waved a hand over her body, over her subtle curves of chest and hips. Drawing attention to the prize, Morty realized, barely able to hear himself over his drumming heart.  
If she would give him a moment, he said. He needed to think about this. And he turned -- Kotone's wide, calm eyes stayed burned into his vision -- to ascend his Leader's podium.

Gengar returned, with Morty's barest mental call. Not that Gengar had ever left.  
Taking something of an ... intimate nature seemed wrong, Morty thought, especially taking it someone distinctly young. But the legal repercussions hardly seemed fair, either. What did Gengar make of this?  
_She's not offering just because she's scared. I can tell._ Gengar wafted, thoughtful. _Why not? You like her._  
As a worthy opponent and an example of ambition. Not as a whim, he told himself, and not as a toy. But explaining that to Gengar would be like explaining clouds to fish; Gengar bothered with nothing and no one he couldn't play with. Morty tightened fists, untightened them, turned the great grey connundrum over again, and nodded.  
Very well, he told Kotone, returning to face her. They could start with a date.  
Kotone frowned. But that would be--  
Please, Morty bit out, he insisted. He would take the honour of her company as a prize.  
She stopped immediately at that word -- _honour_. She opened her mouth and said nothing, and smiled brightly at him. They had stumbled across the heart of the matter. Kotone must have aspired to honour, too, like any proud new star.  
  
  
To quiet his conscience before the date, Morty filled out the _Non-Standard Battle Prize_ documentation. _Provisions_ wasn't an accurate term for this. _Services_ seemed like an insulting way to put it. _Other -- Miscellaneous_ was how he would describe his agreement with Kotone. The League allowed oddities and intangibles; they would lose far too many Leaders otherwise.  
  
He went early to their meeting place -- the entrance of one of the nicer trails winding through Ecruteak's forests. Pedestrians didn't come here at night. They feared the ghosts, which was their loss.  
Gengar's red eyes showed through the shrub leaves, narrow because he was smiling. It was an excellent hiding place to scare an unsuspecting passer-by from. Unfortunately, Morty had helped him perfect that technique.  
Gengar, he thought sternly. It wouldn't be funny this time.  
He could feel the petulant motion of a pout. _You aren't allowed to scream on dates?_  
In short, no. But he did want Gengar present for this, he thought. Someone to watch over what went on. A sort of chaperone.  
_You don't want to scare her. This'll be boring._  
If it got interesting, Morty thought, he wanted to be warned. Hair prickled on his arms, the natural reaction to a ghost drawing closer.  
_ You're already scared, never mind her. Relax! I'll stay close. Knock her dead!_  
And Gengar chuckled, fading away into the night. Smirking in spite of himself -- ghost humour had its own ridiculous charm -- Morty watched the street in its fading coat of sunset gold. Kotone soon appeared, her shadow stretched out ahead of her, Quilava at her heels. She stopped to crouch and pat its head, and smile some delighted words, and recall it. And then she walked alone toward him, straight and proud, nervousness flickering across her face before she found her bright smile to wear.  
He kept wondering if he was doing the right thing. No voice or sign answered him.

So, Kotone asked, where were they going?  
Interesting that she asked that after they were well into the trees, surrounded by shade and grasping branches. Morty glanced to her -- and she didn't notice, looking around at the trees as she was. He said this trail was a favourite of his.  
People said ghost Pokemon haunted these hiking trails, Kotone said, her voice small as gossip. Was it true?  
Haunted wasn't a very good way to put it, Morty said. Ghost Pokemon simply lived here. He knew most of them, so they didn't bother him or play any tricks. He paused. He also thought, he added, that the view of the stars would be nice on such a clear night.  
That sounded nice. And where were they going afterwards?  
He had hoped not to think about that just yet. But he told her his residence would be best.  
Okay, Kotone said. She kind of figured this should be a quiet, private thing between the two of them.  
Quiet and private was one way to put this; secret and dubious was another. And there were many ways other than that, depending on the angle viewed. Morty reminded himself in steel-thought words that he meant well. If he made every effort to do right by Kotone, then her loss didn't need to be a pity or a shame. It could be an obstacle triumphed over. Maybe even a shared effort they could think fondly of, he dared to hope.  
Hey, Kotone said -- her voice wavering against the silence, but catching bright as candle flame. Was that a ghost over there?  
He considered the shape in the forest shadows. He considered Kotone, and her tall stance full of nothing to fear.  
That was an apricorn tree, Morty said. It was important not to let anxiety blind her to-- Well, he said. He ought to start from the beginning.

  
Time flowed easily enough, explaining the basic nature of ghosts, walking on dry-crackling leaves with a girl's gentle company. Kotone nodded at every point, no doubt imagining the Pokemon world to be even richer than it was. Her potential could give her intuition, someday, if she taught herself to understand. Morty wondered what she planned to do with her life, beyond Gyms and after Championship. He didn't ask.  
He did tell Kotone that no, that was the sound of a Raticate calling her young; no, that was just wind in the trees; yes, that was a Gastly, right there where the air wavered like smoke.  
Hesitating -- breaking the rhythm of her footsteps, Kotone's hand started toward her bag. But, she said, hurrying back to Morty's side, she'd try to catch a ghost Pokemon later. Sorry, Morty, what had he been saying?  
Just, he said, that it was important to be sure that she was self-assured. Ghosts respected that. And so did everything else.  
Oh, Kotone chirped, she was already working on that one. She wouldn't quit. She promised.

They neared Mount Mortar, a tall mass soaring above the treetop silhouettes. Morty pointed out that the faint, shrill sound was mostly the echoes of Zubat cries. But legend said that restless human spirits came out at night, and cried in the mountains as well; they knew they weren't truly alone out there. They had the moon and dark Pokemon for company. In the cave shadows, they had something reminding them of a home.  
Kotone thought, starlight catching on the brim of her cap and the thoughtful set of her lips. She took his hand in hers like reassuring herself that Morty was solid. And in a perfectly curious voice, she asked how the ancient legend people knew those restless spirits were human. She kind of figured everybody would look the same -- spirit-wise, anyway. On the inside. After they, uh, died.

That was when Morty knew Gengar was right: he liked her. As a trainer and a dreamer and a young woman trying to say what she meant. Somewhere in the nighttime crannies, he could sense Gengar's smile.

He let Kotone keep his hand, cupped together with hers. She said she liked hearing about these things, and wait, was that a Gastly over there? It didn't look quite like the other Gastly signs had.  
No, Morty said. That was a Haunter. Rare in this area, and rarer still for Haunter to leave traces the human eye could perceive.  
Oh, she said. Then she was lucky, right? Or unlucky?  
It just meant she had a gift.  
Darkness shielded her from Morty's eyes, but she thanked him and sounded happier than she had in the Gym. They descended the wooded foothills in companionable silence, and Morty wondered if he should have picked a shorter trail or a longer one.  
  
Hoothoot called in the black-distant trees, as Morty led Kotone to his home. Streetlights carved white circles into the night. Kotone's grip was firm, and just a little damp.  
It was good of her to join him, he said. He didn't visit the forest as often as he'd like.  
Oh, she should be thanking him. For teaching her all that stuff about legends and ghosts, she said, and for, well, helping her out like this.  
Still an odd form of help. Despite the halcyon in this night air and the sure hand linked with his, Morty remembered the shadows and shades of grey; those never faded. He faced Kotone, and told her that her time and companionship on the Ecruteak trails had as much value as they wanted it to have. If she wished, she didn't need to accompany him for any more payment.  
Kotone's breath caught. No, she said -- she owed him a battle prize. She didn't want to leave a debt unpaid because that'd be an insult to both of them, letting a Pokemon battle go like it didn't matter. And besides, she said quickly, her solid gaze faltering, Morty was really smart and seemed like he always knew what he was doing and she thought he was kind of handsome, so it wasn't like she didn't want to.  
And so another fragment of the truth came tumbling out. A whole handful of fragments, actually. Morty let his smile show, gradually, standing there looking at the fierce pink in her cheeks. Their hands slipped apart, cool air suddenly in between.  
But if Morty didn't want to go through with this, she added, well, she didn't _mind_ or anything and they could just figure out something else. Couldn't they?  
He reached for his keys. Welcome to his home, Morty told Kotone. Please, come in.  
  
  
He typically made tea earlier in the evening than this, but found the habit more important than the timekeeping; tea was so steeped in customs that it was difficult not to have moments of warm clarity while drinking. Kotone said that this kind smelled nice and held her cup like it was beloved. She told Morty about a tea ceremony she attended once, as a little girl clutching her mother's hand, watching a travelling kimono girl troupe pour green tea into brown cups; she didn't remember much else about the tea that day. She had been too busy wondering what those kimono girls had seen out there in the world, and wanting to see it all herself.  
Quiet flowed around them. Kotone sat beside Morty on the futon, ankles crossed, gazing into her drink.

He thought, he said careful, that a person's innocence was worth more than four thousand yen.  
Strangely, wonderfully, Kotone laughed. She had sort of thought about it before, she said, glancing at Morty while her hands fidgeted around her cup. She had thought about what she'd trade if she was out journeying and got kidnapped for ransom, or if she tripped over an ancient artifact and she had to offer a piece of her soul to a legendary thing. She had thought about what her Pokemon journey was worth to her -- really, truly, in the big scheme of everything. And she decided that she'd trade anything -- her big toes, the filling in her tooth, even her first time -- but she'd never trade anyone her dreams. Was that weird?  
A little weird, Morty didn't say. But he knew better than to call anything impossible. He said, slowly, that it was smart to plan ahead.  
Yeah, Kotone said, heavy with relief, smiling at him. She just liked thinking of ways to get around a problem, that was all.  
Every day, Morty tried to think of ways around. He imagined how a ghost could strike a normal-type when its hands phantasmed right through; how to use the Gym's torchlight and night-dark to his advantage; and how to approach a grand Pokemon who had avoided humanity for over a century.  
Everything, Morty said, had a choice of where it ended up. He didn't think destiny was set in stone. He paused, and put aside his teacup; he added that once she had more experience, he thought Kotone was meant for great things.  
Kotone put her cup aside, as well, gingerly so the clay barely made a sound against tabletop. She thanked him, and said it meant a lot.  
The moment seemed weighted, tense and ideal. Morty still didn't know how to cross the space between two people -- he only remembered being glad it was gone -- and he sat opposite Kotone, trying to recall. In all honesty, he was twice her age and human experience had no liters or miles to be measured with.  
Kotone reached across the divide -- and took Morty's hand, her grip firm as before but warm from boiled water. Um, she said. Maybe now they could ...  
As though she was the one who should be asking permission. Morty slid over the seat cushions; there was no graceful way to close this distance and the method hardly mattered. He was beside Kotone now, thighs touching, looking again at the flush on her cheeks.  
Yes, they could, Morty thought. He'd be honoured to, Morty thought. He leaned in and Kotone was there, unflinching, kissing him back.

It was easy -- blessedly easy -- to sink into the sensations, the pure presence of someone else. A few motions of lip and tongue misjudged, and then a rhythm began to finding itself, slick between their lips. Morty found himself sharply aware of the body heat filling air between them, the subtle angling of neck and chin, the tilt of the futon cushion under his weight. He had a destination and these motions were steps toward it.  
Kotone hummed a soft-distant sound. She reached up and made motions half-glimpsed through his eyelashes, slow flashes of shirt-red and flesh-pale. And then she set aside the round shape of her hat; hair spilled onto her shoulders. Laying her arms around his neck, she beamed shy at Morty. That'd help, she said.  
Eventually, Morty hoped to watch -- truly _watch_ \-- a woman removing her daytime style. The satin weight of long hair filtered between his fingers and he couldn't begin to imagine how a few elastics could shape it into two neat tails; that was a sleight of hand the ghosts couldn't show him. Hair led his hands up Kotone's shoulder blades over her collar and onto the dense heat of her neck. And like he had given her an idea, she moved, slinging a leg over his lap and leaning in. Taking the lead, it seemed. Or at least testing the motions.  
He asked, against Kotone's mouth while his hands formed to her narrow waist, if she had really never done this. His gut still craved to know.  
Nope, Kotone said. Well, sort of. She sank fingers into his hair; she said, like a simple fact, that she didn't think it had counted.  
He considered telling her that it had been a while, for him. That he had only taken one lover and it had been clandestine, always about presence and skin contact more than the specific act. Morty said none of that. This was a precious secret, too, kept in night shadows, meaning nothing more than what it meant. He seemed to recall that the throat was a good place to start and he applied his mouth there; Kotone raised her chin, squirming and willing.  
And she brushed against him as she arched, her chest meeting his with the soft give of breasts in between, slight friction magnified tenfold by his nerves. He wondered if it had been too long, if he had pined for close company and somehow failed to notice his very self.  
  
She slid his headband off, letting air touch his scalp, following it with her fingers and a smile. She was slender but real, settling closer in Morty's lap; their bodies fit intimately, wonderfully together even with clothing between. Kotone's curious fingers crept under his scarf and he obliged to remove it. While he was obliging, he pulled his sweater over his head, and found Kotone mirroring him -- dropping overall straps aside, peeling her shirt hem up. Skin made this serious. This was rushing forward, building momentum; maybe, he thought, he should advise Kotone that she could ask to change things, or ask to stop.  
_Morty. She's not scared._  
Shock chilled him -- but why, when he recalled asking Gengar to watch? A ghost trainer ought to know better. There sat a familiar ghost presence on the south-facing bookcase, a bundle of lazy-swirling interest inside an ancient clay pot. The feeling of Pokemon gaze reminded him of every movement and every breath they took, they the two humans.  
She's not scared at all, Morty thought? He relished the dip of her lower back and swell of her hips, passing under his hands like hillsides wandered.  
_Okay, a bit scared. But you're worse._  
Glad to hear it, he thought dry. But he really was glad. His smile pressed strangely against Kotone's lips, and he tugged her close so that she gasped, silent.  
She hadn't thought, she murmured, that it'd be like this.  
She was new to this and she was eager, and learning. Still gleaning everything she could from the world. She couldn't sense a Gengar's presence yet and someday, she might learn that, too. The grey moral dilemma was a distant thing in mist; Kotone the new star was right here, warm and alive against him, running fingertips down his sides.  
May he, Morty asked?  
Please, she said. Please.  
So he turned toward the cushions he would lay her on, her grip cinching around his neck, her weight soft in his arms. Anticipation burned in Morty and red eyes followed his every move.


End file.
